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Sunday, December 9, 2012

Why I never eat Eggplant

I was always a picky eater. Extremely. My mother has always blamed that on my fathers mother. And likely rightly so. She was picky and I spent a lot of time at her house growing up, getting what I wanted when I wanted it.At our house, there were lots of things that I didn't want to eat, but they tried to force it on me. I am sure a lot of kids are like that. But a lot of kids are not like me. I am stubborn. No, defiant. No, extremely determined to get my way when I want my way. When it came to food, I always wanted my way and I was going to have it.First on that list was veal. I don't even know why I didn't like it, but I decided I didn't. So, on nights when we were having veal, I wasn't going to be eating it. My father said that if I didn't, I was going to bed hungry. I said I was okay with that. My mother, however, was not.I didn't care either way. I was going to have my way. My mother cared. I ended up getting french fries and cranberry jelled something, my two faves. There were many other things I didn't want to eat, and I didn't.At times, I needed to prove my resolve. The odd time they made me take a bite of chicken, or turkey, or roast beef. All things I did not want to eat. So, I took one bite, and spit it out emphatically. That worked. Never got served any of those things again.My Aunt, Susan, my mothers brothers wife, was smart. She found out what I liked and she made it separately from whatever anyone else was having. For me, a lot of the time, that meant chicken liver. I know, Chicken Liver? I wouldn't eat chicken, turkey or roast beef, but I would scarf down chicken liver. I was weird. I get it. I still put ketchup on my tomatoes. Still weird. Deal with it.I really didn't have reasons why I wouldn't eat those things. I did have a reason why I would not eat fish. I hated the smell and the taste. They rarely even made me try it or tried to force it on me. And then......there were eggs. I hate eggs. The smell. The taste. The look of them. Hate them. You could put a gun to my head and tell me to eat eggs or die, and I am going to die. I wont eat them. Ever.Now, in my mind, I have made a word association with eggplant. To me, eggplant must have eggs in it because it is called eggplant. I know. Crazy. I do actually know that isn't the case, but I am very literal and the word association alone is enough to get me to never try it.In fact I have no clue what eggplant is like. Tastes like. Smells like. Whatever. So, wait a few minutes, I am going to go look it up.

I am still very stubborn and determined. But I like to think I am growing as a person. I looked up eggplant. Sounds like something I would eat if it was called pototaplant or tomatoplant, which it apparently is a close relative to. So, I am going to give it a shot.Who knows where this might lead.Listen to Justin Beiber?Watch Chick Flicks and cry until the tissues run out?Get a massage from a guy named Serge?

Well, haven't grown that much. Never mind. I will take a baby step and try eggplant.